The Victims
by Sable Supernova
Summary: War isn't just bloodshed and violence. The cracks it leaves behind run far deeper, and they have the power to change the courses of lives. Collection of One-Shots and Drabbles.
1. Megan

_Written for the Ultimate Chocolate Frog Competition, for Hengist of Woodcroft: Write about a Hufflepuff._

 _Also written for the September Event at Fanfiction Writing Month - Megan Jones._

 _Words: 378_

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 **Megan**

My name is Megan.

My name will not be in the history books. It will not be called out on a roster of War Heroes, or new celebrities. I will not be celebrated. When I die, my friends and family will gather at my grave. There will be no reporters.

Half my classmates will not remember me.

At eleven years old, I was excited. I was anxious about starting school, making friends, passing tests. By twelve, I was scared. I was a Hufflepuff; nice and caring. I tried to do by others as I would be done by. And then a student in my class nearly died in a restricted corridor. There was a place, in my school, so dangerous that death was a distinct possibility. And he said Voldemort was back. I didn't believe him.

In fact, I was sixteen before I did believe him, and soon after stories reached my ears of Dumbledore's Army. I had friends who joined. I didn't. They judged me for that. They asked if I didn't care about the war.

I didn't know how to tell them I did care - I do care. I cared so much I wanted to help every victim. I wanted to do everything I could for everyone subjected to the injustice. I wasn't a fighter - I couldn't performs magic strong enough for the spells needed to succeed with them. I was a carer. I was a nurse, a teacher, a comforter, a friend. A shoulder to cry on, a helping hand. I'd defined myself as such since I was a child.

At sixteen, it hit me like a bolt of lightening that I was not unlimited. There were so many people to help and I could not help them all. I was lost, dazed - I didn't know where to begin.

But I was there on the sidelines, watching and hearing stories, through all that Harry Potter and his friends did. It was his friends who taught me a very important lesson. Their unwavering loyalty, their willingness to help him through everything. I didn't have to help everyone. I just needed to help one person at a time.

And I became a Healer.

My name is Megan, and you will not remember me. But I was there.


	2. Blaise

_Written for the Ultimate Chocolate Frog Competition, for Wendelin the Weird: Write about a character who enjoys giving/receiving pain._

 _Also written for the September Event at Fanfiction Writing Month - Blaise Zabini._

 _Words: 342_

* * *

 **Blaise**

I am broken. When they told me that parents fuck their children up, I didn't believe it. I was still a child. Now, the war is over, and we have lost, and some have lost more than others. I believe it now.

Because I was better. I was smarter, stronger, more intelligent - it was my birthright. It was an easy doctrine to believe, that my blood was cleaner than others. Privilege rarely recognises itself. Privilege is seen by those without it, most of the time.

And I saw it. When the battle came, when Troy was invaded, when the last three hundred stood, blood hit the tiles of the corridors of my school. I saw that blood. While others busied themselves, clearing up, I hid in the quiet hallways, the ones without bodies, and I stared at the dark red stains. I thought - I'd been raised in the naive belief - that I could tell a person's worth from their blood. Looking at the thick, drying liquid, I learned another lesson. All the blood spilled - it all looked the same.

I shook from shock, my face white, my head light as the bell jar around all I knew shattered, opening up potential unknown.

Guilt overtook me. Guilt for every thought, every word, every action I had made against those I considered beneath me. It was a lie.

I've never managed to rid myself of that guilt. I don't think I ever will. I let it define me. Every part of me. And when I bed a woman, I do not bed her - she beds me. I welcome whatever pain she may send my way. It's a reminder of what I deserve. I bend to her every whim and fantasy, and cannot enjoy myself without the reminder of what I've done to others. The more pain, the more I enjoy it. I hide the marks in front of everyone else, but she knows they're there. She knows how I need them, what they mean to me.

In the morning, she kisses them and smiles.


	3. Hannah

_Written for the Ultimate Chocolate Frog Competition, for Dorcas Wellbeloved: Write about a female character who is distressed or troubled in some way._

 _Also written for the September Event at Fanfiction Writing Month - Hannah Abbott._

 _Words: 378_

* * *

 **Hannah**

I'd never had a detention before the Carrows. I'd always respected rules, and authorities, and the thought of detention - well, it was frightening to me. It wasn't worth the risk.

But the Carrows changed everything. It was a lesson covering Fiendfyre, the flames that burned with the heat of a thousand suns, unquenched by water, destroying, charring, until there was nothing left to burn. Only skilled wizards could stop its path, and in that classroom, Amycus was the only one who could, and he was not willing. So when they placed mice in front of us, and directed us to use the incantation, I couldn't do it. I usually went along with their lessons for the sake of keeping my head down, but that day… I broke down.

It's humiliating, sitting as uncontrollable sobs wrack your frame, surrounded by your peers - your friends, and enemies. When his eyes landed on mine, I knew I'd really done it this time.

I was sent straight down to the dungeons, with no indication that I would be let out any time soon. I didn't know what they had in store.

The room I was locked in reminded me of a prison cell. It was hard to believe it was a part of my school. The door was barred; the bed was stone; the toilet was a bucket. I sat down tentatively and waited.

The curse came before I even knew anyone was there. I'd learned the theory of Crucio, but that did not prepare me. I imagined Fiendfyre would be a kinder fate as my nerves, all of them, boiled on a hot plate. Involuntary convulsions captured me, forcing my muscles, my joints, my bones, to breaking point. As my shoulder popped out, the crunch was not as loud as my screams, the pain less real than the imagined agony. I'd never wished for death before.

I don't know how long it went on for, but when it was over, my body warped and broken, my energy all but gone, I wondered if I really was dead. It didn't seem possible that I could go on living.

It was Neville who came for me in the end. The Carrows left me to rot. I didn't know which of them to thank.


	4. Kevin

_Written for the Ultimate Chocolate Frog Competition, for Beatrix Bloxam: Write about someone reliving a painful memory._

 _Also written for the September Event at Fanfiction Writing Month - Kevin Entwhistle._

 _Words: 219_

This is told from the point of view of Michael Corner.

* * *

 **Kevin**

On the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Daily Prophet published a list of the known casualties of the Second Wizarding War. You probably knew some of the names. Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. Even Amelia Bones and Fred Weasley. You know the ones who did something worth noting.

Kevin's name was there. A third of the way down, waiting to catch me unaware.

I wanted... I wanted to write down how it felt to loose him. I wanted to put into words what it's like to try to sleep next to an empty bed in a dormitory.

I don't know how.

I remember what it was like to fall asleep in the bed next to his. He was a talker, and an evening person. He'd be animated, lively, half lying down, half sitting up as he recounted his day. He'd make me laugh as he wound me up and I often fell asleep to the white noise of his chatter.

That first night without him was silent. No one dared speak. We each lay in our own misery, listening intently to the absence of Kevin.

I can't tell you what that feels like. But when you see that list, those names... they're not just names. They were voices, only half-heard at times. Now, they are silence.


	5. Jily: For Harry

**Written for the May Event at Hogwarts, for the prompt: "protect".**

 **Words: 119**

* * *

 **For Harry**

The Potters were sat in the living room, enjoying a glass of wine each, when the house began to shake. James rushed to the window to see what the commotion was, and turned back to face his wife with an ashen face.

"It's _him_."

Lily jumped to stand, the glass of wine in her hand tumbling to the floor. Her first instinct was _Harry._ She knew the defences wouldn't prove impenetrable, and she couldn't for the life of her remember where her wand was.

She took the stairs three at a time, one thought clear in the front of her mind - even if she didn't know how, even if she knew she didn't stand a chance.

 _Protect him_.


	6. Regulus: Fragile

Written for The School of Prompts Challenge, for the prompt: arrow.

Also written for the Huge TV Show Quotes Bucket, for number 18: "Life's fragile. You need to stop running, or you're never really living." - _Grace Blood, Skins_

Word Count: 300

* * *

 **Fragile**

 _The arrow will always find its mark._ That's what he told himself as he stood on the precipice of his life, knowing he'd made his choice.

Yes, he knew he'd decided, but he didn't yet know where that decision would take him. The inside of his left arm itched. It was a constant itch these days; a reminder of what was there beneath his sleeve, a reminder of his regret.

He ignored it. He wouldn't look.

The wind howled around him, whipping his hair against his forehead. He allowed himself to enjoy the pain. He looked down to Kreacher, stood beside him, and set his jaw hard.

"Which way?" he asked.

He felt as though he could see the truth so many others were blind to that stormy night. He understood now what the Dark Lord truly stood for. He thought of his brother, and for the first time, admitted that Sirius had been right.

Kreacher pointed to the cliff face in front of them, and the pair began to walk.

Voldemort had to be stopped. He would not bring happiness. If the war ended tomorrow, and the Dark Lord won, he would not stop. Only in war was he able to prove the extent of his power. No, the Dark Lord would only want more. He would destroy everything in his path until there was nothing left but himself.

"Life's fragile. You need to stop running, or you're never really living," he said, more to himself than the elf beside him. That's what he'd decided to do now. Live. Act. Do. Be.

The Dark Lord was the target, and there were many arrows pointing at him, including his. The one thought that contented him as he entered the cave was the reminder that evil never wins in the end.


	7. Dean: Pilgrim

**Written for:**  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Jocunda Sykes - Write about a long journey  
 **Writing Bingo:** Seamus Finnegan  
 **Gringotts Prompt Bank:** "Heavy hearts, like heavy clouds in the sky, are best relieved by the letting of a little water." - _Christopher Morley_ , Misty, Chaos, Seamus/Dean, word set: Towering, Alarm, Frighten, Shallow  
 **Words:** 471

* * *

 **Pilgrim**

The journey from London back to Dublin was always long, but this year, it seemed longer than ever. The war was supposed to bring people together, wasn't it? That was what Dumbledore and Harry had promised. The fight would unite people against a common cause, create allies that would last a lifetime.

It wasn't supposed to tear families apart.

Dean was going to come with him, this year. They were going to walk in to Seamus' family home holding hands, Seamus was going to tell his parents the truth and his mother was going to see how much of a wonderful person Dean was, eventually.

But on a misty Irish morning, tomorrow, Seamus was instead going to attend his mother's funeral.

His father was going to come and meet him, like usual, and make the journey back home with him, but Seamus told him not to bother. Seamus told him he'd be fine - his dad had enough to worry about. Seamus lied.

Now, it felt like a pilgrimage. Like that family home was once his nirvana, with the rope swing on the old apple tree, and the smell of his mother's baking. Like now, he was heading towards a Limbo, where the tree would still be there, towering over the garden as it always had done, but the aroma of fresh from the oven bread would not. It would be a world of chaos, where the familiar and the alien sat ugly side by side. It wouldn't feel like home anymore.

The train flew over the Menai Straits on its way to the ferry and was lashed with rain. The sky was growing dark, and Seamus felt a million miles away from all of it.

He'd been writing home all year, but he hadn't wanted to frighten or alarm his parents. He didn't tell them the reality of his fifth year because he didn't want them to worry about him. He'd been naive and thought the war didn't reach past the mainland. Every letter telling the truth had found itself in the common room fire, unsent.

It all seemed so shallow now.

His mother was dead, and now he'd never be able to tell her the truth. She'd never know of the truth he'd lived for, of Dean, of his happiness. He'd missed the chance he didn't even know was his last.

"Heavy hearts, like heavy clouds in the sky, are best relieved by the letting of a little water." He didn't know if Dumbledore made that up or if he was quoting it from somewhere, but those were the truest words of sympathy he'd heard since the news broke.

His heart was heavy, and all he wanted was to hug his mum and have her tell him everything was okay, and that she loved him.

He couldn't even have that.


	8. OC: Not Scared

Written for:

Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge: Fulbert the Fearful - Write about Cowardice

Gringotts Prompt Bank Forum: OC Name: Lacey Bradley

Words: 187

* * *

 **Not Scared**

Lacey was a Gryffindor. That meant Lacey wasn't scared.

She wasn't scared that the war would steal everything from her. She wasn't scared that Voldemort might try to kill her. She wasn't scared that her muggle heritage made her a target. She wasn't scared that she wouldn't know how to fit in in the magical world when she got out of school.

She wasn't scared that, because of Voldemort, there wouldn't be a magical world to graduate into.

In the shower, she let all these words wash over her like the hot water from the shower, burning her skin where it touched her, hot pinpricks.

She pushed her hand through her hair and moved so the water ran over her face. In the shower, she could pretend she wasn't crying.

Because Lacey wasn't scared. Lacey was terrified.

When she was a child, magic seemed like a wonderful solution to all of her problems.

Now she knew the truth. Magic was a curse.

Lacey wanted out. She wanted to run and run and never look back.

She found herself wondering, once again, why she'd been placed in Gryffindor.


	9. Seamus: Soldier

**Written for:**  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Herman Wintringham - Army, Hair, Man, Derived  
 **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Seamus Finnigan  
203 words.

* * *

 **Soldier**

Seamus had never before considered himself cut out for the army. Even if there was a magical army somewhere he could join, he singed his hair too many times in Potions to ever be considered reliable. He was an accident waiting to happen, and he always had been. Too much the fool, too much the joker.

But that was before the war. That was back when he was still a boy. Even at only fifteen, he was a man now, ready to step up and do his part for the cause. It was a worthy cause, at least, Harry's. It was worth fighting for, whether the day for fighting came tomorrow or a few years down the line.

That was something that could be said for Seamus's generation. A lot of kids derived their maturity, their adulthood from the war. At least, he supposed, someone had Voldemort to thank for something that wasn't horror and death and misery. It was a simple case of being made to grow up to young. Worse things had happened.

And either way, Seamus felt ready now. He was a Gryffindor, and he was proud. Now was his time.

He couldn't wait for his first Dumbledore's Army meeting.


	10. Alecto: Miscreants

**Written for:**  
 **Ultimate Chocolate Frog Cards Club:** Babayaga - Actively dislikes children to the point of verbal or physical abuse  
 **Writing Bingo:** Alecto Carrow  
 **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Alecto Carrow  
351 words.

* * *

 **Miscreants**

Dinner was over, a much more sombre affair than it ever had been while she was a student, and Alecto was watching the students stand to leave. The incessant, shrill chatter and laughter she remembered children liked to make was silence under the new administration, and Alecto smiled. Seen and not heard, she believed, was a wonderful philosophy for children.

She stood, slowly, setting determination on her face as she turned to Severus and her brother. "I'll go and see to our miscreants," she announced with a curt nod before leaving.

She walked down the middle of the Great Hall to the Entrance Hall, ignoring the glances of all students she passed – she much preferred to pretend they weren't there. When one got in her way, her lip curled up in repulse almost subconsciously, and her wand was raised and pointed at the student before he'd had time to move. The student, a boy, was out of her way in time for her to continue walking at the same pace, she didn't need to slow down or stop, but she through a Knockback Jinx at him anyway for being in the wrong place at the wrong time in the first place.

Down the stairs, she passed the Slytherin Dormitories and continued, past the Potions classroom and on into the darkness. She left the din of the students there behind and continued into the silence, into the darkest underbellies of the castle. She walked past the silence, to where groans and moans of troublesome students could be heard; the students reeling in their own suffering. A single, enchanted candle stood on a table by a book. She went over to read. Two of the students would be lucky, today, it seemed. They would be set free, their punishment complete. Four of the students had only been sent to the cells today, and had yet to taste her wrath. For the other seven – a smaller number than usual – Alecto merely had to prolong their misery.

She turned to the cells, narrowed her eyes and smiled. This was her favourite part of the day.


	11. Sirius: Dear James

_Written for 'The Harry Potter Day Competition 2015' for the category Marauder Era._

 _Also written for 'The Challenge and Competition for Hard-core Marauder Fans' for the Prompt: Other: Write some of Sirius' thoughts in Azkaban._

 _A letter Sirius writes to James in Azkaban, that he'll never get the chance to send._

 _Warning for character death, referred to throughout this story._

* * *

 **Dear James**

Dear James,

Prongs. It feels wrong to call you that now. Do you remember when we gave you that nickname? It was fourth year, and you'd already dubbed me 'Padfoot'. We felt so special, in on this big secret and we'd given ourselves something no one else had when we became Animagus. We, the four of us, had a freedom no other student had. It was exhilarating.

Where is that freedom now? My cell is dark, and bleak, and small. It's the kind of cold that seeps right through to your bones. Everything smells as though it's rotting and dying somehow. But I can't allow myself to feel sorry for myself. I'm alive, at least, while there's still breath in my lungs. And you're… not. I knew something was wrong. I flew to Godric's Hollow as fast as I could, hoping I would be on time. I wasn't. When I saw you lying there, on the stairs, you looked like you were asleep. I knew you weren't. It felt like everything we'd been trying to do for so long had just fallen apart at the seams, The whole Order had been trying to keep you safe, and now you're gone. I can barely even admit it to myself.

It just doesn't seem fair that it was you. You were the shining ray of happiness in our group, you know. You were the one with the loving parents, who'd never known darkness until the war arrived. You had the beautiful wife, the happy son, the well-kept home. You were much better at living than I was. If I could switch our places right now, I would in an instant, and I'd hope you wouldn't be as stupid as I was to go after the bastard.

Lily, I miss her, too, and I never imagined I'd say that. But she was vivacity, she was life. Happy, stubborn, nothing was ever grey for her. She lived her life dancing around the colour spectrum, feeling everything as hard as she could. Her mood swings might have given me whiplash once or twice, but life wasn't boring with her; it was in sharp focus and technicolour.

I still can't believe what happened. That one of our own turned on us so easily. I didn't know he had it in him. I guess that's how he got away with it. None of us knew what he was capable of. God help him if I see him again.

I can still remember every happy memory we shared, every laugh, every joke. In this place, though, they're hard to keep hold of. It's easy to forget happiness ever existed here, when everyone tells you that you murdered your best friend, every day, you start to believe it. I might not have held that wand, but there were things that I could of…. should have done. I'm sorry I wasn't enough.

There are some memories that stand out more than others. Some that, no matter how miserable I get, I will never forget. I'd like to let myself believe that you, wherever you are now, remember them, too.

In Third Year, we played a game of dares. Do you remember? I dared you to ask McGonagall out on a date, and even to this day, I'm impressed with how well you managed that one. I hope you still think the look on her face when you told her you appreciated a woman who could power-dress was worth the 7 hours of detentions. And then you dared me to spend a whole lesson having an argument with an imaginary person. Okay, so getting kicked out and sent to McGonagall meant I didn't manage the whole lesson, but I'm pretty sure I saw steam coming out of his ears, and that was worth every single minute of detention.

When I think about it, every single moment I spent as your friend was worth all the detentions, and more. When I set off for Hogwarts for the very first time, I knew my life was about to change in some way, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would find a friend like you.

But if I can promise you anything, I can promise you this: that the life you should have had, that the memories you should have made; I'll make sure they see me through. And Harry, little Harry, one day, I'll see him again. And if the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death, then I'll keep the memory of you alive.

Sirius


	12. Frank&Alice: Her Eyes

**Written For:  
** **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Frank Longbottom  
 **Valentine-Making Station:** Write about a relationship that lasts past Hogwarts  
 **Chocolate Frog Card Challenge:** Archer Evermonde – Write about any character and their involvement or lack of involvement with the First Wizarding War  
 **If You Dare Challenge:** 999\. Love is Watching Someone Die (Okay, it's a metaphorical death, but still…)

* * *

 **Her Eyes**

The sun streamed in through the gap in the curtains as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. She always used the base of her hand to wipe her eyes, dragging her hands outwards from her nose towards her ears. A soft groan escaped her lips, a disgruntled noise that said she wished she still slept. I smiled as she turned to look at me. She'd slept with her hair pulled back into a tie, which meant that it now hung wild and loose, strands of light chestnut fell about the pale blue pillow, tangled up in themselves. Sleep clung to the corner of her left eye – the eye speckled with slightly more brown than the other, if you looked close enough. She pushed some hair behind her ear – a rough gesture for her delicate porcelain hands – revealing the mole on her cheek, just above her jaw.

"What?" Her voice cracked over the words like her throat had dried out overnight. I continued to stare at her.

"You're beautiful."

She rolled her eyes before closing them, letting out a heavy breath even as she smiled. She said nothing for a while.

"I need coffee," she finally decided, nodding along with her own statement.

I pushed the quilt back and began to get up but a hand on my shoulder held me in place.

"It's okay, I'll get it." She smiled briefly, but the essence of the gesture still remained: lines on her cheeks that said she knew happiness. Lines I wanted to kiss – so kiss them I did.

"I want to," I told her.

A cold air caught my naked body; I let out an involuntary shiver as I reached for my dressing gown. The guttural sound that escaped my throat at the temperature change made her giggle as she snuggled further down under the quilt.

"The things I do for you," I muttered with a smile to ensure my words had no real edge.

* * *

I couldn't move. I could see nothing but the ceiling; high and industrial; decrepit. The plaster was falling off by the central support beam, holding on to the concrete and steel above that had held it in place for so many years – a lover desperate to hold on to what little remained. A stain of old water had gathered mould to my right where the rain had seeped in. Little more than that could be made out in the darkness – the only light came from streetlights outside that might as well have been a million miles away. It felt to me like civilization had never existed here and never would again.

Somewhere in the distance, a drainpipe dripped; the sound echoing around the space like it was the only sound left in the world.

At least she'd stopped screaming.

I fought the bonds holding me so that I could at least look at her. My own voice drowned out the drainpipe as I strained and struggled in vain.

The woman laughed; a high, unashamed cackle filled with enjoyment and self-importance. The worst sound I'd ever heard.

"Crucio!"

For a fraction of a second, after every time I heard that word, sheer panic took over me. I couldn't see the wand. I didn't know if they'd pointed it at her or me. Terror claimed me as its slave.

And then it would hit – either her or me, seemingly at random – and pain chained me in place. Pain for her, for me, for us. Electric pain, coursing through every vein, fire and brimstone, a river of lava. An impossible ache, radiating out from the centre of my chest like a hole had just been opened up, or re-opened; a deep black chasm of nothingness that I bled out into. When it hit, every time, I remembered. It didn't matter which one of us it hit. I didn't know which I really wanted; I didn't know which was worse.

"Stop!" I sounded harsh, guttural: feral. A desperate plea that rung out louder than any scream I'd ever heard. They heard it.

They didn't listen.

* * *

I put the tray down on the bedside table, pushing my book out of the way to make room for it. My dressing gown soon found its way onto the back of the chair by the vanity table. Shaking my slippers from my feet, I climbed back into the warmth of the bed I never wanted to leave.

She cuddled into the crook of my shoulder, her hair tickling my skin as she moved. I scratched lightly and she caught my hand, holding it in hers lightly as she brought them down to the small space between our hips.

"As much as I like holding your hand, I'm still itchy."

She brought her free hand up from where it had been caught between our bodies and twisted her wrist around so that her fingers were resting against my chest, where her hair lightly rested.

"Where?"

She began to move her fingers against my skin.

"Up a bit."

She struggled to raise her fingers in their current position so shifted her weight, and danced right over the spot.

"Down a bit. There."

I smiled as she eased the sensation before she set her hand down to rest in her lap.

"You do remember I have two hands, right?"

She laughed, a musical sound, high and stilted but melodic as it rose and fell through the octaves.

"Yes, but you need that hand to give me my coffee."

Her reasoning wasn't perfect, but I smiled all the same as I reached for it and gave it to her.

* * *

I don't know when I accepted the finality of the situation. I might have been screaming; I might have been listening. It might have taken me minutes or hours. It didn't matter. My final realisation mattered, and only that: they were not going to stop. They wouldn't stop if we begged for it; they wouldn't stop if our screams cracked under the weight of the pain; they wouldn't stop if our tears grew hysterical and our words stopped making sense; they wouldn't stop if we fell silent.

This was it.

If anyone had asked me how I thought I would die, I'd have told them I didn't know. I would have, perhaps, drifted off a little with a faraway look in my eye as my mind worried through the possibilities. Perhaps an Avada Kedavra at the hand of an enemy. Perhaps on the job in some altercation or other. Some fatal, tragic accident. Old age is, of course, the dream.

Never had I imagined this.

A pain so excruciating I struggled to remember where I was, or who I was with, or my name. Stone cold eyes fixed on a single screw in the support beam as I tried to drown out all sense of feeling. That's the funny thing about human nature; it's impossible to not do certain things: think, breathe, feel.

The Binding Curse wore off, after a while, but I still couldn't move. Every movement blinded me with pain. I could barely lift a finger without flashes of white hot light.

But I had to. I had to see her.

It took minutes to turn my head, all the while her sobbing, shrieking cries burned holes in me. I saw her chestnut hair, splayed out about her as if on a pillow in the morning. Sweat stuck strands to her face. Her fingers clawed at the concrete floor at the sensations coursing through her body, nails bloody and broken leaving ruby trails on the cold, unrelenting grey. Her head shifted this way and that until it finally settled, her face pointing straight at mine. I could make out only fuzzy shapes and outlines in the dark, but I found her eyes and locked them with mine. They were unfocused, unseeing, vacant.

When the next curse hit me, the image of her soulless, lost eyes burned itself into my brain, and somewhere along the line, I let myself go.

* * *

 **AN:** I've tried something a little bit new with my writing style here, so it would be great if you let me know what you thought :) Thank you!


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